Sleeping Dragon identity

colt watched indra kill.
at some point he pulled his foot from the mess, grimacing at the wet shluck it made. his eyes were appraising. approving. the coyote was dead and indra had been its dispatcher.
he watched the heave of her body and the way her eyes were awake with something that lived in him too. colt was suddenly and fiercely very pleased with his own power, to shape her like this, to watch her take form as if she were a stick whittled between his teeth.
the rogue stepped closer to her, eyes flickering. he lowered his muzzle to brush her cheek, to catch on his tongue a droplet of the blood which now stained the side of her face. "very good."